


She's a Lady

by Hawkeye_918



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: F/F, Gen, Genderswap, Mentions of Violence, Minor Character Death, Minor Character(s), MomSpy, Mostly humor with a dash of angst, awkward mother-daughter bonding, but not quite as bad as canon, fem mercs au, yes this fic is named after a tom jones song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-18 02:59:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18111881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkeye_918/pseuds/Hawkeye_918
Summary: RED team needs money. Mr. Pauling has a convoluted plan. Scout finds herself caught in the middle.What could possibly go wrong?(I suck at summaries and tags. Please read this story.)





	1. Preparations

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story on-and-off for over a month and I really hope you'll like it! so uh here we go!
> 
> my tf2 tumblr is @teleported-bread if you want to talk to me!

The funding coming in from R. Mann had never really been quite enough. The REDs were grateful for the consistent paychecks, but the quality of their weapons and other equipment left much to be desired. Of course, contractually, all their equipment would have to come from Mann Co. But that didn’t mean that they had to use just the crappy implements and gadgets they’d been given. If they could get more money, they could reap the benefits of having actual functioning products. 

****

Which was precisely why Mr. Pauling had called the mercs to a meeting. It was going exactly as well as you’d expect it to.

****

“Look”, Scout began, pointing a finger in accusation, “Soldier’s shovel exploded earlier today.  _ Exploded. _ All by itself.”

****

“Oh my God.” Mr. Pauling whispered in disbelief. 

****

“Right?”, Soldier said, unfazed. “Usually it just bursts into flames.”

****

“As absolutely horrifying as that is, I was  _ going _ to say that the Administrator and I have been working on a solution for our money problem.” Mr Pauling said. 

****

“We’re not going to try selling penguin meat again, are we?”, Spy asked genuinely, leaning forward in her seat.

****

“No”, Mr. Pauling replied, shaking his head. “I think we learned our lesson the first time. But anyways, I tracked down this investor guy and if you ladies play along with the sob story we sold him, we’ll be in the black in no time.” 

****

“What’s our story?”, Medic asked giddily, steepling her fingers. She was hoping to get some harvestable organs out of this.

****

Now ordinarily, Mr. Pauling would find some wealthy sucker, sell them some pitiful tale, then walk off, check in hand. And just as soon as the check was cashed, he would be belt-sanding the fingerprints off of the investor’s corpse. He’d run the scam a couple times before with success. 

****

But there was a bit of an issue this time. The prospective investor hadn’t been quite as stupid as he looked, although he was still pretty stupid. He’d asked some questions that Mr. Pauling had felt compelled to answer, and one thing lead to another. He wanted proof that this organization he’d be giving to was real. The only reason Mr. Pauling was still considering this scam was because if successful, they payoff would be big. And if unsuccessful… well, either way, he’d be burying a body.

****

Mr. Pauling pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He wasn’t eager to say what he was about to. “This investor thinks we run a school for wayward girls.”

****

A pause. 

****

Then raucous laughter from the whole team. 

****

Engie stroked her chin in thought. “Doesn’t this raise certain ethical dilemmas?” 

****

“In another situation, I’d probably agree with you, but this guy’s money is just as ill-gotten as any we’ve ever made. Usually it doesn’t matter what I tell an investor the money is for because they tend not to be alive long enough to look into it. There are just… stipulations in this case.”  Mr. Pauling said. 

****

“Proceed”, Spy said, gesturing for him to continue. 

****

“He wants some of our faculty to attend a dinner party at his mansion, along with one student to represent a ‘success story’.” Mr. Pauling pushed his glasses back up from where they’d slipped. 

****

“Where are we going to find someone to be the student?”, Scout asked, putting her feet up on the meeting table. 

****

All eyes were on her. 

****

“Absolutely not”, Scout said, quickly taking her feet down. “I don’t look  _ that  _ young, really. Who’s gonna believe I’m still a student?” She’d graduated high school at age 20-- just three years ago. 

****

“It’s just for one night”, Mr. Pauling justified. “All you have to do is dress up nice and be polite.  _ For one night.  _ Even you can do that.”

****

Scout didn’t catch the backhanded compliment. “It’d be nice to have equipment that works”, she murmured. 

****

“Then it’s settled. I already set the date for next Thursday”, Mr. Pauling said, triumphant. “Meeting adjourned.”

****

One week until the dinner party. Scout had a sour feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

****

* * *

 

****

This had been the last thing Scout had wanted to do. Far and away, the last thing she’d ever wanted to do.

****

She would’ve rather stubbed her toe on a dozen coffee tables or drunk that expired carton of milk from the back of the fridge, but no, here she was. On her way to ask  _ Spy _ , of all people, for advice. Scout shuddered. 

****

It had taken significant wrestling with her pride, but she knew there was no one on the team better suited for the task. 

****

She paced back and forth in front of the door to Spy’s smoking room. Apparently Spy had heard this, because she swung the door open, nearly hitting Scout in the face in the process.

****

“What.” Spy seethed, speaking through clenched teeth. Her expression softened infinitesimally when she saw who it was.

****

Scout took a deep breath. “Spy, this is hard for me here-- and I know you don’t want me to be askin’ you no favors and I don’t wanna be askin’ you no favors, but--”

****

Spy sighed. “Quit your floundering and wasting both our time. Come in ‘ere and tell me what you want.”

****

Spy walked back into the room and sat down in her armchair. Scout warily followed her. 

****

Spy raised an eyebrow in question. And Scout spoke.

****

“So, y’see, I, uh, wanna be girly.”

****

Spy snorted. “Whatever for? I was under the impression that you enjoyed rolling around in the grass.”

****

“Oh no, I do, I really do-- I love bein’ outdoors. That’s the best. Just… even I wanna feel pretty sometimes, y’know? And you know better how to be fancy than any of us.” Scout stuffed her hands into her pockets and looked away. Her pride wouldn’t let her make eye contact.

****

Spy looked equal parts bemused and annoyed. “This is because of the dinner party.” A statement, not a question.

****

“Of course!” Scout said, a little too loudly. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if it wasn’t such an emergency.”

****

Spy stood up to look Scout in the eye. “What exactly do you want to know?”

****

Scout began counting off on her fingers. “I wanna learn how to put on real makeup, I wanna learn how to walk in heels, I wanna be ladylike, you feel me?” Her face was sincere. 

****

Spy rolled her eyes in expertly concealed amusement. She walked over to her writing desk, uncapped a pen, and quickly scrawled a list on a sheet of paper. 

****

Spy spun around and handed Scout the piece of paper. “I have made a list of what you need. You will complete the items on this list as soon as possible and report to me when you are done.”

****

“Thanks”, Scout said, carefully folding the paper and putting it in her pocket. She was turning to leave when she felt Spy looking at her in her peripheral vision. “Yeah?”, Scout asked, glancing towards the other woman. 

****

Spy’s arms were folded, her eyes… searching. “Did no one try to teach you these things when you were a little girl?” 

****

Scout thought about the question. “... No? At least I don’t think so, or maybe if they did, I wasn’t payin’ attention? I mean, my mom died when I was born and I had seven older sisters who didn’t really give a damn about that stuff, and my Pops was always wicked busy…”

****

Thoughts buzzed through Spy’s head. She couldn’t put her finger on what she wanted to say, so she said nothing.

****

Scout immediately regretted oversharing, but she’d spoken and couldn’t take it back now. She shrugged ambivalently. “Thanks, by the way”, she said, heading out of the room, patting the piece of paper in her pocket. 

****

The first item on the list said “Try on an occasion appropriate dress and high heels.”

****

Great. Now Scout had to find both of those things. 

****

She had brought one dress with her when she’d moved out west, and whether it was appropriate or not, she’d let Spy decide later. But now she had to get herself some heels. 

****

Scout had considered asking the other mercs if any of them had a pair of heels they wouldn’t mind lending her, but she doubted they would. Besides, Scout had very small feet and the shoes probably wouldn’t fit anyway. 

****

This had necessitated a trip into town. Scout could have gotten herself a brand new pair, she made good enough money. But she didn’t know how much use she’d be getting out of them, and that combined with a general frugality borne from growing up in tough times had sent her to the secondhand store.

****

She had perused the shoe racks, scrutinizing every pair. Scout had prepared herself to go home empty handed when something patent leather caught her eye. From the bottom row, she pulled a pair of gently worn, black, open-toed high heeled sandals. The heel themselves were maybe two and a half to three inches tall, and the shoes were fastened by a buckled strap around the ankle. She put on the heels and walked clumsily over to the mirror in the back of the store, nearly falling a few times but catching herself. Putting her arms out for balance, Scout spun in a slow, careful circle. The shoes were a perfect fit. She looked at her reflection and grinned. “Just like Cinderella”, she whispered.

****

Item number two on Spy’s list was for Scout to pick up some makeup at the pharmacy. Scout had felt a little awkward having to ask for help, but the girl at the makeup counter was nice and had picked out some mascara as well some eyeshadow and a tube of lipstick. “This will bring out your pretty blue eyes”, the girl had said, smiling, as she held up a dark red lipstick called “Caliente”. Scout knew she was probably just trying to make a sale, but it was still flattering.

****

It had taken a bit of finagling to get the purchases on her scooter, but Scout did it. She was so excited she could hardly contain it, her mind racing with thoughts of what was to come. The ride back to the base was a blur. She really wanted to show Spy her new shoes, and the only thing that stopped her from doing so as soon as she came home was the fact that it was ten o’clock at night.

****

T-minus six days until the dinner party. 

****

It wasn’t first thing in the morning on Saturday, but it was close. Right after breakfast, Scout had run back to her room and slipped on her dress. It was a cute ruby red number, with a halter top and sweetheart neckline. It was about knee length. Perhaps it was a little old-fashioned, but it looked nice on her. Scout put on the heels, too, and had just left her room when it hit her. 

****

She absolutely didn’t want her other teammates to see her like this before it was necessary. She felt unnerved and a little embarrassed at the prospect of being seen so far removed from her uniform. Being seen in casual clothes was fine, a little odd, but fine. The uniform had become a sort of security blanket, in a way, something that separated the young woman herself from her role in combat. Scout felt damn vulnerable. 

****

So she snuck down the hallways, careful to avoid areas where people might be congregating. She nearly ran headlong into Heavy, but quickly ducked around a corner. 

****

Ever since Mr. Pauling had made the announcement, Scout had found herself wondering about some things. No one had ever said that Scout had to wear a dress, just that she had to dress up nice. She could probably have worn a suit if she wanted to, if she had one. But a part of Scout had secretly always wanted to find her “feminine” side-- just to see what it was like. And this was the first opportunity that had come along that she could reasonably justify to herself. 

****

And as for asking Spy for help, well, Scout wasn’t too sure about why she’d done that. Sure, Spy was the most sophisticated member of the team, but she and Scout had never really got along that well. But their interactions weren’t always negative, although never fond. Scout quite enjoyed receiving attention, and if some of that attention came from someone she usually couldn’t stand, then it would just have to do, then. 

****

Scout knocked on the door to Spy’s smoking room, hoping just a little bit that maybe she wouldn’t be in there. 

****

But Spy was in there, and when she opened the door, she regarded Scout with an indecipherable expression. Scout didn’t like not knowing what someone was thinking. 

****

Spy chuckled and gestured towards Scout. “I assumed you’d have some dress that made you look cheap.”

****

“But I don’t”, Scout said, raising a finger in protest. 

****

“You don’t”, Spy agreed. 

****

Scout marched past Spy into the room. “Alright”, she said, standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips. “Teach me how to be a lady.”

****

Spy pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. This was going to take a while. “First of all, you’re stomping. Don’t do that.”   


“I don’t stomp.” Scout said, annoyed. 

****

“Maybe not usually, but you are right now. One foot in front of the other, heel-to-toe. Now walk across the room and back,  _ tout suite. _ ”

****

“Just so you know, I resent this”, Scout said, following Spy’s orders.

****

“I’m sure you do”, Spy replied, taking a cigarette out of her case and lighting it. 

****

And an hour passed like this, with Scout walking in a straight line, back and forth, across the room. Accompanied, of course, by Spy’s occasional shouts of “Stand up straight!” and “Shoulders back!”.  Scout was surprised she hadn’t worn a hole through the floor.

****

“My feet are killin’ me here, Spy”, Scout whined, bending over to rub at her ankles, which were starting to swell. 

****

“Then we move on to makeup”, Spy declared. She went over to her desk and pulled a hand mirror out of the drawer. She’d put it there earlier, anticipating its use. 

****

Scout produced the paper bag containing the cosmetics and tried to hand it over to Spy. Spy just looked at the bag, annoyed. “Scout, you don’t expect me to put the makeup on you, do you?”

****

Scout frowned. “Well, yeah, I mean, I don’t know how to do it myself. I told you that.” Spy begrudgingly took the bag, then looked inside. She seemingly found the contents to be to her satisfaction. “I will most certainly not be putting the makeup on you, but I will still guide you”, Spy acquiesced. 

****

So Spy told Scout how to put on lipstick without it getting on her teeth, and demonstrated how to put on eye shadow. The only mishap was when Scout jabbed herself in the eye with the mascara wand. She put a hand up to her eye and hissed in pain. 

****

“I told you to be careful”, Spy reprimanded. Scout shot her a glare.

****

“Looking like a lady is only ‘alf of the battle, you know. Do you think you can act like one?” Spy’s tone was level, not accusatory. 

****

Scout bristled nonetheless. “ ‘course I can act like a lady. It ain’t hard.”

****

Spy rose an eyebrow in suspicion. “You can be polite? Control your temper?” 

****

Scout shrugged. “How hard can it be?”

****

Spy looked doubtful. “Your manners are so seldom used, sometimes I wonder if you 'ave any at all.” 

****

Scout was reddening with anger. “Look, my Pops raised me good, raised me polite. And just ‘cause I don’t feel like bein’ polite to you or nobody else if I don’t hafta, that don’t mean I ain’t capable of it.” She angrily stuffed the makeup back into the bag and prepared to leave. 

****

Spy didn’t try to stop her. She just watched. 

****

Scout fumbled with the doorknob momentarily. She got it after a second, and had one foot out the door when Spy spoke.

****

“Practice walking in the ‘igh ‘eels a little and doing your makeup every day until the dinner. Even if it’s just for ten minutes.” Again, not much emotion could be gleaned from Spy’s voice.

****

Scout paused in the doorway. “Fuck off”, she mumbled, not turning around. She just slammed the door behind her and stormed down the hallway.

****

Spy immediately went to the desk and grabbed a bottle of bourbon and a glass. Spending time with Scout always made her want a drink.

 

****

* * *

 

****

 

Scout was in the common bathroom (which looked more like a high school locker room than anything), leaning over one of the sinks, scrubbing at the makeup on her face with a paper towel. She grumbled to herself as she struggled to get the last of the brownish bronze-ish eyeshadow off her eyelids.

****

She got it all off eventually, but she had scrubbed much too hard and now her face was red and raw. It looked a good bit like she’d been crying. She frowned at her reflection in the mirror.

****

The door to the bathroom creaked open and Scout’s eyes blew wide. It was a common room after all, it was inevitable someone would walk in. But she had failed to consider this. Scout was just grateful she had changed into a t-shirt and jeans before she’d gone to wash her face.

****

Demo stepped into the bathroom carrying her toiletries and other things for a shower. She gave a half-hearted wave to Scout, who returned the gesture. She paused when she saw the state of Scout. 

****

Demo walked up to Scout and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Are ye alright, lass?”, she asked, concerned. 

****

“Absolutely”, Scout said, nodding in affirmation. She really was.

****

“If you’re sure…” Demo said, not quite believing her. “You know, we’re all a little stressed about this whole investor thing--”

****

Scout’s laugh caught her off mid sentence. “I am absolutely one hundred percent okay. Now go do whatever the hell you came in here to do.” 

****

Demo snorted in laughter. “Fine, fine. But”, she said, pointing to the heels Scout had forgotten to take off, “nice shoes.” 

****

Scout looked down at her feet and panicked momentarily. “Hey, thanks”, she said, waving off the compliment like she had intentionally chosen to pair heels with such a casual outfit.

****

Demo laughed again as she headed around the corner for the showers. As soon as she was out of sight, Scout took off out of the bathroom as fast as she could. “Coulda gone better, coulda gone worse”, she said under her breath.

 

****

* * *

 

****

 

Sunday afternoon. Scout studied her reflection in her bedroom mirror. She’d just finished putting on her makeup, by herself for the first time in her life.

****

She brought a hand to her cheek. “Wow”, she mumbled.

****

“I look like a frickin’ Picasso.” 

****

Like a four year old had gone a little overboard with the box of crayons could be another way to describe it.

****

Scout enjoyed a moment of self-deprecating laughter before she took a wet wipe and removed the makeup. She was glad she had gotten those. 

****

As the days passed, Scout kept practicing. In the evenings after battle, she’d spend an hour or so in her room, preparing for the dinner with the investor. Some time was spent working on getting better at makeup, some time was spent trying to walk more confidently in heels, but a lot of it was spent trying to act more professional. “Trying to act more professional” for Scout meant (temporarily) removing swear words from her lexicon and brainstorming appropriate conversation topics.

****

Scout had always been painfully determined, and when she set her mind to something, there was no stopping her. The quest to prepare for the dinner party with the investor was no exception. If anything, she was more set on this than she’d been for anything in a long time. It had become very important to her to prove to the other mercenaries, and to herself, that she could be mature and sophisticated. Scout was just as much an adult as the rest of them, and now she just had to establish this.

****

This seemed easier said than done, because on Wednesday night, Scout was running a final check, making sure she was as ready as she’d ever be. She paced, going down a mental list of everything she would need the next day. Caught up in her thoughts, she tripped over air, and hit the ground, hard. 

****

Pounding footsteps came down the hall, followed by harsh knocking on her door.

****

“You alright in there?”, Sniper asked, worried. 

****

“I’m fine! I just, uh, dropped somethin’.” Scout unfastened her heels and shoved them under her bed. She quickly moved to pull on her socks and sneakers.

****

From outside the door, Sniper remained quiet for a moment. “Well, erm, alright then. Just came to let you know dinner’s on. Didn’t want you to miss it.” She started to walk back down the hall.

****

Scout whipped open the door and was by her side in seconds. “Lemme walk with you”, she said, falling into step with Sniper. 

****

“Okay”, Sniper said, a little confused.

****

“So, uh, are you goin’ on the mission tomorrow? I guess it’s not a mission exactly, but it might as well be, huh?” Scout asked, laughing nervously.

****

“I don’t believe so, but I think we’re going to finding out tomorrow?” Sniper stopped walking and looked at the other woman for a second. “You’re pretty worried about this thing, aren’t you?”

****

“I’ve never been worried about nothing, not ever”, Scout lied, stopping and tilting her head up to look at Sniper. She smiled, trying to ward off suspicion. 

****

“That’s good, then”, Sniper said, choosing not to question Scout, although she didn’t believe her. She knew Scout well enough by now to know they’d just end up talking in circles.

****

“Wait, what?”, Scout asked, brow furrowed. 

****

Sniper chuckled. “It’s good that you’re not worried. Because I know you’ll… knock it out of the park, that’s the phrase. You’ll do great, Scout, you always do.” She started walking again, so Scout did too. 

****

“You mean it?”, Scout asked, her cheeks flushing. 

****

“You know I do, so stop fishing for compliments. Now let’s get going, I’m hungry.” Sniper said, picking up the pace. 

****

Dinner was in full swing when they arrived. It was Engie’s turn to cook, and she’d made meatloaf and mashed potatoes. She was killer at making comfort food. Not as good as her barbecuing, but still pretty darn good. 

****

Scout and Sniper sat down to eat with the others. Soldier was in the middle of regalling everyone with some tall tale, acting it out with her silverware. Scout hadn’t the foggiest clue what the story was about, but it was entertaining regardless.

****

Scout started shoveling down her dinner, barely listening to Soldier. Her rambling was good background noise. And frankly, if you didn’t hear one of Soldier’s stories straight from the beginning, there was really no way at all to tell what she was on about.

****

“But anyway, if you haven’t snapped a man’s neck with your bare hands by your age, Cadet”, Soldier said, gesturing towards Scout with a forkful of meatloaf, “then that is something to be ashamed of.”

****

Scout had been zoning out and the remark caught her off guard and sent her choking on her food. She struggled for a second, under the concerned eyes of her teammates. She coughed a few times then wiped her eyes where they’d begun to water. “I’m okay”, she rasped. Scout took a drink from her glass.

****

“Our star pupil, ladies”, Spy said crossly. Sporadic laughter rang out from the team.

****

“Yeah, yeah, keep laughin’ while ya can”, Scout said, casting Spy a challenging glare. “In twenty-four hours you’ll be singin’ a different tune.”

****

Spy raised an eyebrow. “I truly hope so.”

****  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dinner party, and the aftermath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is pretty long, but I hope you guys like it!!

Mr. Pauling video called the team at breakfast the following day to ensure he’d reach everyone.

****

“Sorry for not giving you guys more notice on who’s officially going, it took me _soooo_ long to forge these documents and make everything official.” He shuffled his paperwork. “So, we already knew Scout was going to be the student, but we’re going to need Demo, Engie, and Medic for the faculty. Oh, and Sniper.”

****

“Wot?” Sniper asked, nearly spitting out her coffee. Killing people she could do, sure, but she didn’t get paid to attend dinner parties. That would entail, _shudder_ , small talk. Hanging around the team was fine, they understood her reserved personality. But strangers? Oh, no.

****

“Don’t worry”, Mr. Pauling said, waving off her concern. “You don’t have to go to the actual party. Just wait in the van and get ready to be our getaway driver if things go south.”

****

Sniper nodded and relaxed in her seat.

****

“I gotta go”, Mr. Pauling said, as gunshots rang out somewhere behind him. “I’ll tell you guys the rest when I get there. Remember, be ready to go at 6 o’clock.”

****

The transmission ended.

****

Quiet reigned for a moment.

****

“Well, I’m excited.” Medic said, smiling. She got up to put the monitor away.

****

Spy couldn’t say the same. From the far end of the table, she silently fumed. She had specially requested to be put on this quasi-mission. She’d have to have some words with Mr. Pauling later.

****

As to be expected, the mercenaries still had to do their principal mission for that day: competing with their BLU counterparts to capture each other’s intelligence. It was a hard fought battle with a lot of back-and-forth. Ultimately, Scout herself captured the intelligence and won the match. She thought that would be a good omen for the dinner party that night.

****

The team returned to the base in good spirits, maybe half past four in the afternoon. Scout had wanted to take a nap before the dinner party, but she didn’t trust herself not to oversleep. So as soon as she made it to her room, she began getting ready.

****

She decided to take her hair out of its customary ponytail and leave it down. She got everything on, then checked and re-checked that she looked alright in the mirror. Scout took a few deep breaths to calm her nerves. It was a quarter to six. She was heading towards the door anyway when she heard a knock. Anticipating that Sniper would be on the other side of the door, she called “Coming, babe!”.

****

So needless to say she was both dumbstruck and embarrassed to be face-to-face with Spy.

****

Spy took Scout’s appearance in for a second, and something that was possibly pride welled up in her. Scout’s hair was fine, her makeup was fine, everything seemed fine. Spy wasn’t sure if she was surprised or not.

****

“Came to see me off? Make some snippy remark about how I’m gonna fail?”, Scout asked, standing with arms akimbo.

****

Spy took notice of Scout’s awfully familiar jewelry. A pearl necklace and matching earrings. “Where did you get those?”, Spy asked, pointing to the necklace.

****

“Y’mean the pearls?”, Scout asked in return, tugging on one ornamented ear. “Didn’t steal ‘em, if that’s what you’re askin’. They were my mom’s.”

****

“Your dead mother’s jewelry”, Spy said slowly, obvious she didn’t believe her own words.

****

“Yeah, well, maybe she didn’t die. Maybe she walked out. And left the necklace and earrings behind and my Pops kept them in his nightstand like the sentimental guy he is.” Scout’s tone was level, but bitter. She squeezed past Spy to get out of the room, shut her door, and locked it. She didn’t want to talk about this, but sometimes, when you repress things long enough, they bubble back up to the surface at odd and inopportune times. Scout knew from experience.

****

It’s a unique thing, having a walkout parent. Ricocheting back and forth between seething hatred for the person and a melancholy longing for what could’ve been, not to mention all the emotions you can’t put your finger on, much less acknowledge. It’s growing up with an intense feeling of inadequacy, feeling like if you’d been different, maybe they would’ve stayed, although you know deep down it wasn’t your fault at all and there was nothing you could have done.

****

Spy speaking roused Scout from her thoughts. “So you took the jewelry from your father’s nightstand? I thought you said you did not steal it.” Spy crossed her arms. She wasn’t cross, had no reason to be, yet had a facade to maintain.

****

“What if I did take ‘em? Pops said the stuff’d be mine someday anyway. Said my mom woulda wanted me to have it when I got old enough.” Scout tried to turn down the hallway, but Spy blocked her.

****

“Why do you choose to keep something from someone who left? Someone you never knew?”, Spy asked, deathly serious.

****

“I literally do not know why you give a shi--”, Scout began, but quickly cut herself off. She had to be a model student that night, and a model student doesn’t get in a fight with a colleague in the middle of a hallway. “I literally do not know what this weird fascination you have with my homelife is, but it’s freakin’ creepy and you need to cut it out.” The strap of Scout’s little purse had begun to slide off her shoulder, so she pushed it back up and tried once again to leave.

****

Spy stepped in front of her again, arms out to block her. “Scout, you tell me more than what I ask. I am in the business of gathering information, do not act as though my prodding is bizarre.”

****

Scout huffed and quickly ducked under Spy’s arm, then fast-walked down the hallway.

****

“You should bring a jacket!”, Spy shouted after her.

****

Scout said nothing, just kept walking.

****

Scout went to the rec room to wait until Mr. Pauling arrived. She peeked her head around the doorway to look inside. Everyone except Spy was there. Those going on the mission were dressed up nice, with the exception of Sniper, who just wore her uniform.

****

Demo had teased out her hair and was wearing an off-the-shoulder emerald green cocktail dress. Engie had opted for a flowy, orange tunic dress with a belt. Medic wore a dark, fitted suit and bright red lipstick, and Scout thought the get-up made her look kind of like a lawyer. But not in a bad way.

****

They all looked very nice, and she suddenly felt a little overwhelmed. She noticed Medic and Demo both had heels, but Engie had wedge sandals. Well, that was reassuring. Scout double checked that her own heels were fastened.

****

For the first time in Scout’s life, she hoped that no one would be looking at her when she walked in the room.

****

No such luck.

****

She stepped through the doorway. The rest of the team went silent for a good five seconds. Someone whistled low.

****

“Mother of mercy”, Demo whispered, just loud enough for Scout to hear.

****

Scout nervously pushed a lock of hair behind her ear, then walked towards the group.

****

Pyro immediately ran forward and gave Scout a tight hug. They spoke very animatedly about something that Scout couldn’t quite understand. When they finally let go, Scout smiled and smoothed down her dress, and offered a sheepish “Thanks”.

****

“You look the part, hon”, Engie said, clapping her gently on the back.

****

“Just realized I ain’t seen you without your goggles before.”, Scout said, as the realization dawned on her.

****

Engie turned a little red and just shrugged.

****

“You can all stop starin’, by the way”, Scout said, flattered but a little annoyed, as she looked around at the team.

****

The laughter that resulted eased her nervousness.

****

The team chatted amongst themselves until they heard the telltale sound of someone rushing down the halls, toward the rec room.

****

It was six o’clock sharp, and a typically frazzled Mr. Pauling burst into the room. He adjusted his glasses and looked around at the mercs. “Very nice, guys”, he said, a little surprised. “Now, for those of you coming into the party, I’d say not to bring weapons, but I know none of you would listen to me, so just, like, don’t bring anything too big or obvious.” He made a ‘follow me’ motion, then took off out of the room at a good clip.

****

“Knock ‘em dead, troops!” Soldier shouted to the group as they trickled out of the room.

****

Mr. Pauling lead the charge out of the base, with Demo, Engie, and Medic not far behind. Scout and Sniper hung back, several paces behind.

****

“You look lovely, Scout”, Sniper whispered, tone reverent.

****

“Well so don’t you!”, Scout replied, playfully elbowing her in the side.

****

“Really, love, like a princess.” Sniper said, nodding.

****

Scout just laughed. “I’m the same me I’ve always been.”

****

Sniper leaned down to give her a kiss on the cheek. “I know, you’re always a princess to me.”

****

Scout’s heart fluttered in her chest. “Ya softie”, she mumbled, reddening and looking at the ground.

****

The group walked a bit further until they made it to the lot where Mr. Pauling had parked.

****

“Thought you said we were usin’ the van.” Engie said, perplexed.

****

“Isn’t this better?”, Mr. Pauling asked ecstatically, the question rhetorical, as he gestured to the bright yellow school bus.

****

“D’you know how to drive the bloody thing?” Sniper asked, a little pissed.

****

Mr. Pauling laughed. “I got it here in one piece, right?”. He pulled out his keys and got on the bus, and everyone filed on behind him.The ladies sat themselves in the first few rows of the bus.

****

“Where’d you even get a school bus?” Scout asked, smacking one of the vinyl seats.

****

“That is not important”, Mr. Pauling replied, turning the key in the ignition.

****

The dinner party was in an hour and a half, and it’d take just about that long to drive there.

****

“Here’s the deal. We’re going to the mansion of a guy named Mr. Nelson. Wannabe big-time criminal. Runs primarily on money-laundering rackets with different small businesses as fronts. He’s been looking for some cause to donate to, to look good in the eyes of the community.” Mr. Pauling said, eyes on the road ahead.

****

“Is this man inta organized crime?”, Demo asked, grabbing the seat in front of her to brace herself as the bus sharply rounded a corner.

****

“No, but he wishes he was. Did you guys decide which subjects you teach, you know, in case he asks?”

****

“Biology!” Medic said, smiling devilishly. But then again, any expression she made was rather devilish.

****

“Chemistry.” Demo said simply. She knew her stuff, obviously, from years of experience.

****

“Geometry.” Engie said. It was one of the first PHDs she got.

****

As the miles rolled by, everyone joked and laughed and pretended they weren’t nervous. Medic was listing off all the medical equipment she’d order once the money came in.

****

“The possibilities for experimentation will be limitless!” Medic chortled, clapping her hands together. “Oh, all the data I will gain!”

****

Scout knew she’d definitely be the recipient of some of those experiments, but she’d rather think about that than the dinner party.

****

“Let’s not count our chickens before they hatch, now.” Engie chided gently.

****

“I’d agree with ye, but I’ve got all the faith in the world in us.” Demo said, grinning.

****

“Yeah, we got this.” Scout affirmed, nodding.

****

“Well I’m glad you think so”, Mr. Pauling said, glancing down at the map he had spread across his lap. “Because our ETA is in about five minutes.”

****

“Oh, hell.” Sniper said. She thought about how she’d be sitting in a dark, empty, school bus, waiting for a radio call in case something went wrong, worrying about her friends and girlfriend inside a strange mansion owned by a criminal. Superb. Hired killers or no, it was a situation hard to feel good about.

****

“About right.” Mr. Pauling said under his breath as he pulled up the long, gravel driveway. He stopped right in front of the mansion. The building was not terribly huge but pretty posh nonetheless. It was built in the Greek revival style, with four large columns in front.

****

Scout clenched her jaw to keep it from dropping. She’d seen the spiffy townhouses on Beacon Hill back home, but this place was a whole nother level of fancy. And she’d actually get to go inside!

****

Mr. Pauling opened the bus doors. “All ashore that’s going ashore”, he said.

****

“That’s my cue”, Sniper said, taking the driver’s seat.

****

Scout looked back over her shoulder at Sniper, casting her a concerned look. Sniper smiled and flashed a thumbs up. Scout returned the gesture.

****

As Scout, Demo, Engie, Medic, and Mr. Pauling stepped off the bus and went up the front walkway, Sniper backed the bus all the way down the driveway to better block access from the road. She turned off the bus, but kept the keys in the ignition.

****

Mr. Pauling straightened his tie, glanced around him, then rang the doorbell.  The sound of loud chimes reverberated through the air.

****

After a moment, the large wooden door creaked open to reveal the butler, a tall, thin, gray-haired old man. “Yes?” He asked, looking at the motley bunch.

****

“Is that them, Reggie?” came a voice, presumably their host.

****

“I believe so, sir”, Reggie replied, leading the group into the foyer.

****

A portly, older middle-aged man with a bad combover appeared next to the butler. “I’m Fred Nelson. Welcome to my home.” His smile was unnerving.

****

Mr. Pauling stepped forward. “Hi, I’m Vice Principal Pauling, we spoke on the phone.” He reached out and shook Mr. Nelson’s hand.

****

“This is some of my staff”, Mr. Pauling began, gesturing to the ladies.

****

“This is our biology teacher, Dr. Ludwig.”

****

“A pleasure”, she said, clicking her shoes together.

****

“Our chemistry teacher, Ms. DeGroot.”

****

Demo smiled politely. She didn’t appreciate having to be sober tonight, but she could fake it.

****

“Our geometry teacher, Ms. Conagher.”

****

Engie gave a nod.

****

“And last but not least, our most improved student, Jennifer.”

****

“Nice to meet you”, Scout said, and for all the world, curtsied.

****

Mr. Pauling tried not to look as surprised as he felt.

****

Mr. Nelson, for his part, went down the line and shook hands with everyone. His hands were cold and clammy.

****

“This way, if you please”, Reggie said, leading the way to the dining room.

****

The mansion’s dining room had dim lighting for ambience, and a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling. The table was so long, that even with six people at the table, the room seemed almost comically empty.

****

Mr. Nelson took the seat at the head of the table. Reggie seated Demo, Scout, and Medic on one side of the table, and Mr. Pauling and Engie on the other side.

****

Reggie came around to pour everyone a glass of wine. He was about to pour a glass for Scout, when Mr. Pauling said abruptly, “Wait, she’s underage!”

****

“That’s right, I’m just 18”, Scout lied, nodding solemnly.

****

Reggie raised an eyebrow in doubt. He poured wine for the remaining people at the table, then disappeared into the kitchen. He returned with a pitcher of water, and poured Scout a glass of that instead. He left the pitcher on the table in front of her.

****

Demo swirled her glass of wine and smiled to herself. Maybe she wouldn’t have to get through this sober after all.

****

“So, Mr. Pauling”, Mr. Nelson said, turning to face him, “tell me more about your school.”

****

Mr. Pauling produced a manila folder from inside his suit jacket, and handed over its contents. He pushed up his glasses. “Well, as you can see, the Teufort School for Wayward Girls was founded in 1961 to give troubled young girls the opportunity to turn their lives around and to reform delinquent behavior.”

****

Mr. Nelson nodded and pretended to read the paperwork and flyers that Mr. Pauling had worked so hard to forge and fabricate. “What lead to you becoming a student at this school, Jennifer?” He asked Scout.

****

“Beg your pardon?”, Scout asked in turn, leaning forward in her seat. She figured that while he repeated himself, she could think up an answer.

****

“I just meant, what trouble did you get into that required reforming your behavior?”, Mr. Nelson asked.

****

The others around the table looked at each other warily.

****

“Or is that a sensitive subject?” He crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.

****

“It’s quite alright”, Scout piped up, earning surprised looks from her comrades. “I was a _real_ hooligan. I used to get in street fights all the time and I committed a lot of property damage. But since I became a student here, I have learned to deal with my problems in mature ways, and I do not beat people up anymore.” Scout spoke at a normal person’s pace, and actually enunciated her words. It was a shocking difference for her teammates to hear, to say the least.

****

“I find it hard to believe such a nice young lady was a juvenile delinquent.” Mr. Nelson said, smiling at Scout in a way that was probably supposed to be friendly but came out looking sort of sickening.

****

“Oh, ja, that’s the effect of our school. It is very hard to believe that not too long ago, our Jennifer was beating people senseless!” Medic laughed, putting a hand in front of her mouth.

****

Reggie regarded Medic quizzically from where he stood. He made the trip back into the kitchen, and came back this time with a salad bowl. He set it down in front of Mr. Nelson, who took some and passed the bowl over to Demo.

****

“Then what is your secret to changing this problem behavior?” Mr. Nelson rested his chin on his hand.

****

Engie decided to answer this one. “We believe in offerin’ students creative outlets to channel their aggression. And of course, counselin’ and therapy.”

****

While Engie was speaking, Demo had taken some salad and passed the bowl to Scout. Scout took a portion before passing the bowl to Medic. Scout stared down at her plate, thinking. And not about how she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten an actual green vegetable. There were two forks at her place setting and she wasn’t sure which to use. Demo looked over at her, concerned, and seemed to read her mind. “You go from the outside, in.” Demo whispered. Scout nodded, and picked up the fork on the left.

****

Mr. Nelson looked at his guests. “You all look very close”, he observed.

****

Scout sat up straighter in her chair. “Oh, all the teachers take real good care of me. They’re great role models.” Not a total lie.

****

“That’s good to hear. A little maternal influence so far from home, eh?” Mr. Nelson said.

****

“Absolutely, sir”, Scout said.

****

The entrée-- chicken kiev and asparagus-- was brought out and consumed. Awkward small talk had filled the silence. And any doubts or suspicions Mr. Nelson might’ve had concerning the legitimacy of the Teufort School for Wayward Girls waned. Nothing of special note had happened during that time, apart from the occasional (probably unintentionally) rude comment from Mr. Nelson. The man’s filter let more things through than a busy canal. With such loose lips, it was no wonder that the local organized crime rackets wanted nothing to do with him.

****

And everyone had endured his remarks, pretending to be amused, solely for the sake of the money they’d potentially receive.

****

“And what is it like, to work with chemicals, Ms. DeGroot? Isn’t that dangerous?” Mr. Nelson turned to Demo.

****

“Not if you take the proper precautions”, Demo said, taking a sip of wine.

****

“But, with that female tendency to get distracted…” Mr. Nelson said, confident that he was correct.

****

The room went silent with veiled hostility. Everyone waited for someone to say something.

****

“I’m very good at my job”, Demo said, raising an eyebrow. And resisting the urge to punch him in the mouth (she was not at all alone in that sentiment).

****

Mr. Nelson laughed, thinking himself very funny.

****

Now, Scout knew nothing about high society, but she knew enough from movies and tv to know that rich people usually had multiple people on staff, right? She’d only seen the butler, but there had to be a cook in the kitchen. There didn’t seem to be any maids or anyone else around to help out. Cooking for six people wasn’t easy, could one person be in the kitchen doing it all by themselves? Scout thought it odd.

****

In the bus outside, Sniper leaned over to flick the last of a cigarette out the window. She shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. Nothing had come through the walkie-talkie yet, so that was either a very good sign or a very bad one. She hadn’t heard any loud or suspicious noises, but perhaps the size of the mansion meant that such sounds would be trapped in its halls. The night was still, save for the calling of the crickets in the grass and the cicadas in the trees. The warm yellow light pouring out of the mansion’s windows juxtaposed with the inky blackness of the sky and the soft white glow of the waxing moon. The place was surrounded by many acres of private land-- they were all well and truly isolated. Sniper cracked her knuckles, a nervous habit.

****

Immediately after Reggie the butler announced that dessert was nearly ready, Mr. Nelson excused himself. He took the cloth napkin from his lap, put it on the table, then turned and went into the kitchen.

****

As soon as he was gone, Demo breathed a sigh of relief. Scout felt a chill run through her body. She began wondering if maybe there’d been something in the food, what if they’d been poisoned? She felt alright, the food had been good, but would she know? Ripe with nervous energy, she jiggled her leg underneath the table. To her right, Medic was examining her butter knife. Across the table, Mr. Pauling fiddled with his tie for want of something to do. Engie was cool as a cucumber, true to form, and stared off at a painting on the wall. No one dared speak.

****

Within the kitchen, the cook-- a fortysomething woman in kitchen whites with short, dark hair-- was carving up a pie. She used her sleeve to wipe off the sweat from her brow. She finished what she was doing and began the task of placing the slices of lemon meringue pie on the dessert cart. She only hesitated a moment when Mr. Nelson entered.

****

“Is everything going well?” The woman asked, only out of obligation.

****

“Yes, yes”, Mr. Nelson said, pausing to admire his reflection on the side of a pot still on the stove. He smoothed his greasy comb over. “I pity those poor, unfortunate children.” There was no emotion in those words. He walked briskly through the kitchen to get to the pantry.

****

The cook looked at him questioningly. “Aren’t you concerned about leaving your guests unattended, sir?”

****

“No, Ellen-- not if I can make sure of one last thing.” He said, reaching into the breast pocket on his suit where he’d stashed the school flyer Mr. Pauling had given him earlier. Mr. Pauling had done a good job fabricating the flyers, using clippings of photos from actual schools’ pamphlets. It looked wonderfully authentic, and Mr. Nelson was certainly convinced.

****

It was time to get down to brass tacks. He dialed the number from the flyer into the rotary phone on the pantry wall.

****

It rang. Once, twice, three times.

****

Someone picked up.

****

Mr. Nelson cleared his throat. “Hello, is this--”

****

“Yes, this is Teufort School for Wayward Girls. I am guidance counselor. I help children with problems.” Heavy said, on the other end of the line. Mr. Pauling had asked her to pretend to be a staff member, should anyone call.

****

“So, are you--”

****

“Do _you_ have problem?” Heavy asked, tone grave.

****

“Well, no, but I was wonderi--” He stammered, a little intimidated.

****

“Are you parent of student?”

****

“No, but--”

****

“If you are not parent, do not have problem, please call during school hours. It is nighttime, the children must sleep. Good night.” Heavy said.

****

_Click._

****

Dial tone.

****

And Mr. Nelson stood there, flabbergasted. Well at least now he knew he had the right number.

****

He went back to the dining room to see that at some point during his phone call, Reggie had brought out the cart from the kitchen, and all his guests were quietly eating their pie. The only sound was the _tink_ of cutlery against plates.

****

“I just spoke with your guidance counselor”, Mr. Nelson said, disrupting the quiet and immediately drawing all eyes to himself.

****

Mr. Pauling’s blood ran cold. His heart beat staccato in his chest.

****

“She seems pretty gruff, but I’m sure she’s nice when she isn’t tired.” Mr. Nelson chuckled. He resumed his place at the table and put his napkin back on his lap.

****

It took a lot of Mr. Pauling’s strength to not show how relieved he was.

****

“One hundred percent.” Scout affirmed. She didn’t know who the hell he’d been on the phone with, and she didn’t care. As long as everything was okay.

****

Dessert passed with more queasy smiles from Mr. Nelson and more stilted conversation from everyone. Scout had answered questions about being a student at the school politely and with aplomb. She faked a genial demeanor.

****

“Alright”, Mr. Nelson said, once it appeared everyone was done eating, “I believe I have what you’re here for. Now, I know it is getting rather late and I feel as though we’d better just do this now, yeah?”

****

He removed a checkbook from his pocket.

****

“Anyone have a pen?” He asked.

****

Medic produced one from somewhere, and handed it over.

****

Mr. Nelson wrote the check, passed it to Mr. Pauling, and returned Medic’s pen.

****

Mr. Pauling took the check and inspected it. He gave a nod of approval before sticking it in his manila folder.

****

Mr. Nelson stood up and started walking to the kitchen again. “I’m going to try and call your school again. I know your guidance counselor was in no mood to talk, but maybe this time I’ll get ahold of someone who can get me in touch with the principal. I’d like to schedule a tour as soon as I can.”

****

“A tour?” Scout asked, nearly choking on air.

****

“That won’t be possible.” Mr. Pauling said, standing up abruptly.

****

Scout wasn’t sure which she processed first, the muzzle flashes or the muffled _pop pop_.

****

But frankly, that didn’t matter, because there was Mr. Nelson, facedown on the fancy tile floor, bleeding out from two gunshot wounds to the head. Dead as a doornail.

****

“Didn’t even realize you were carrying”, Engie said, looking down at the corpse. “Probably should’ve, though.”

****

Mr. Pauling shrugged. He tucked his pistol (with it’s silencer) back into his waistband and adjusted his suit jacket to conceal it.

****

“ _I_ was hoping to kill him.” Medic lamented, sighing.

****

“Out of curiosity, is there anyone at this table _not_ carrying a weapon?” Demo asked, laughing.

****

Silence.

****

“Uh… guys?” Scout began, pointing to the kitchen doorway, where Ellen the cook and Reggie the butler stood.

****

“Aw, darn.” Engie muttered.

****

“Don’t worry about us”, Ellen said, laughing nervously and raising her hands defensively. “We won’t turn you in. Whoever you all are, you did us a favor.”

****

“What…” Demo said, staring in disbelief. With that one word, she had said what everyone else in the room was thinking.

****

“It was no secret that he was an awful man. You, sir, have done what we have wanted to for _years_.” Reggie said simply, matter-of-factly.

****

“Can you make it look like Nelson is still alive for a while?” Mr. Pauling asked.

****

“Absolutely. I believe Mr. Nelson was suddenly called out of the country on business, wasn’t he?” Ellen said, giving Reggie a knowing look. He nodded primly in response.

****

“I’ve been forging his signature for years. This shouldn’t be terribly difficult.” Reggie replied.

****

“So, in the meantime, what are we gonna do about the dead guy?” Scout asked, jerking a thumb towards the corpse on the floor.

****

“Leave it to us. There’s a shovel and quicklime in the garden shed.” Reggie said.

****

“Oh.” Mr. Pauling said. He paused for a moment. “You know, if you bury him shallow--”

****

“It’ll speed up decomposition, yes.” Ellen said. “We really have looked into this.”

****

Mr. Pauling blinked twice. “Okay then.”

****

Silence.

****

Mr. Pauling took out the walkie-talkie and pressed the talk button. “Sniper? Pauling. We’re all okay. Nelson’s dead, though. Wanna bring the bus around? Over.”

****

Static came over the walkie-talkie, then “Uh, roger that. Over.” There came a sound from outside, of a loud engine starting up.

****

Reggie escorted everyone through the halls, back to the foyer.

****

“I must ask, was this planned?” Reggie asked frankly.

****

Mr. Pauling scratched his head absentmindedly. “Well, I wasn’t going to try and kill him tonight, I was going to come back next week and do that, but, hey, plans change.”

****

Medic tilted her head in question. “What are you going to do when people become suspicious?”

****

Reggie laughed. “They always say ‘the butler did it’, anyway, don’t they?” He took his leave without saying anything further.

****

Once on the bus, everyone had informed Sniper about how the dinner party went. Mr. Pauling drove.

****

“You doin’ okay?” Scout asked quietly, turning to Sniper.

****

“Was bloody worried about you lot in there. But I should be asking you how you’re doing.” She said softly.

****

“Eh, I’m okay, just tired I guess.” Scout said, putting her head on Sniper’s shoulder. “I feel bad, though, we got to eat and you didn’t.”

****

“I ate before we left the base, love, it’s fine.” Sniper said, pulling her hat down over her face and closing her eyes.

****

Scout closed her eyes, too, and they fell asleep like that, leaning on each other.

****

It was very late when the team came home. Engie gently woke up Scout and Sniper. Mr. Pauling dropped off everyone in front of the base, then left, presumably to go return the bus to wherever the hell he’d gotten it from.

****

That was when Sniper bid everyone good night, and left to go back to her camper. The others entered the base and found that Heavy had waited up for them, to make sure they got back alright. Medic gave her a brief synopsis of the evening’s events and said that everyone had agreed to have a debriefing the following day.

****

“You made us proud today, kid.” Engie said, reaching out to ruffle Scout’s hair.

****

“No kiddin’?” Scout asked, in flattered disbelief.

****

“No kidding. Ye went out of your comfort zone and kept your calm under pressure. You outdid yourself, Scout.” Demo said, grinning.

****

Scout’s face heated. “Thanks, guys, you all did great too”, she said.

****

The team had always been proud of her, and that night, they were especially so.

****

The team parted ways as everyone went back to their own rooms, except for Scout. She’d gone to the kitchen for a drink of water. She downed the whole glass in a few gulps, then put it in the sink. Scout paused to take off her high heels, and carried them as she trudged down the halls of the base, half-asleep. She rubbed blearily at one eye, and smudged her makeup in the process. She was too tired to care, too tired to remove her makeup.

****

Just around the corner from the hallway where Scout’s room was located, Spy was waiting. Scout walked directly into her, startling herself awake.

****

“How was the dinner party?” Spy asked, annoyed, smoothing down the front of her suit.

****

“It was fine, we’re all gonna talk about it tomorrow. Good night.” Scout said, yawning.

****

Spy exhaled sharply.

****

“One more question”, Spy said, voice dropping to just above a whisper. “ ‘ow does it feel? To be ‘fancy’, as you put it?”

****

Scout took a second to register the question. “... good? Like, I felt good, right? And it was sorta fun to dress up, but I could only see it bein’ a once in a long while type of thing. It’s just not me.”

****

Spy nodded and pretended she wasn’t interested in what Scout was saying. “Whatever you say. But wash your face, you look like a raccoon.”

****

Scout scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Good night”, she said, entering her room.

****

“Good night”, Spy said, heading to her own room.

****

Scout flopped onto her bed. She drifted off to sleep, proud of herself and satisfied with her performance that evening.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the first multichapter fic I've finished (so far) in 6 years of writing fanfic which is sorta sad but w/e. i'm getting better tho! pls leave kudos/comment if you'd like (it really motivates me tbh). as always, my tf2 tumblr is @teleported-bread.
> 
> thank you for reading!!! have a nice day <3


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